


Heavy Is The Head

by uro_boros



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9345194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uro_boros/pseuds/uro_boros
Summary: Sometimes, he wonders who else Noctis' friends are -- if they, like him, find it weird at times, fitting all the pieces of Noctis together, or if it's easier for them. It's not that Prompto is particularly status-conscious; but it's hard not to feel smaller and slightly in awe of Noctis.





	

It's strange to be friends with a prince.

Prompto had figured it would be, honestly, but thinking something doesn't prepare him for the reality. It doesn't prepare him for Noctis, who acts both royal and not-royal in equal measure. The thing is, Noctis can't escape being a prince, and by the proxy of being his determined friend, neither can Prompto. Even if Noctis could (and he tries, with summer jobs in tiny restaurants that he's chauffeured to and from by Crownsguard),  
there's a certain way he carries himself -- even in the mopey angst of his hunched shoulders -- that gives away the circumstances of his birth.

(Prompto wonders if the same applies to him. If the way he carries himself gives away the circumstances of _his_ birth. He's always very quick to dismiss the thought.)

The fine aloofness of Noctis' features alone would be enough, Prompto thinks, for anyone to figure out that there's nobility running in Noctis' veins. Past the retainers, and the motorcades, and the semi-official holiday celebrations on his birthdays, stripped of all of that and the title itself, Noctis would still be someone more fully conceived than others. Blessed by the gods, even, (which later, years later in a future-yet-to-come, is true and not true. Gods are divine and cruel, and what is one man's simple life worth compared to the eons of eternity? What is one prince's life worth compared to everything and all?)

It's hard, sometimes, juxtaposing the prince Noctis is with the boy Noctis is. Noctis doesn't like vegetables. Noctis sleeps late when given the chance and has the ability to fall asleep just about anywhere, in weird, contorted positions that can't be comfortable. He goes through a tube and half of hair gel each month. There are ridiculous, human qualities to Noctis that struggle with the majestic ones -- the weapons and the warping and the _magic_ , which Prompto can never fully get over; the retainers and the bodyguards, the apartment in the tallest building in the nicest neighborhood, the weekly meetings with his father, learning affairs of state, that eat into first period history at school, a class that Noctis doesn't need, really, because as he says once, frowning over the textbook, he already knows his own family's history.

\--

Sometimes, he wonders who else Noctis' friends are -- if they, like him, find it weird at times, fitting all the pieces of Noctis together, or if it's easier for them. It's not that Prompto is particularly status-conscious; but it's hard not to feel smaller and slightly in awe of Noctis. 

He meets Ignis first, because Ignis picks Noctis up from school, and because it's Ignis who sits him down with a manilla folder while Noctis "freshens up" in the bathroom the first time Prompto comes over to Noctis' apartment.

Ignis' expression is placid and his features easy as he thumbs open the folder.

Prompto isn't sure what he's expecting its contents to be. In hindsight, it makes perfect sense.

"We ran the necessary background checks, of course," says Ignis. 

The skin on Prompto's wrist itches; he's used to ignoring it, but under Ignis' assessing gaze, he holds his limbs even tighter to himself, careful not to give it away.

"You were adopted," Ignis continues, thumbing through papers, and Prompto knows he should have expected it, but it stings, nonetheless. He gives a smile that he's practiced in the mirror every day and lies through his teeth.

"I'm really grateful to my parents for taking me in." The truth is, he is, and he isn't; it's a complicated feeling he has for them. They wanted him enough to have him, just not enough to stick around. His wrist still itches.

Ignis gives him a searching look, but his face betrays no approval or disapproval about Prompto's answer. If he knows it's a lie, he doesn't say. 

"There's nothing in your file that sets off any alarms or causes us any concern in regards to your relationship with Prince Noctis," says Ignis, and that's good, that's what Prompto's going for -- flying under the radar, even if he's blowing it by being friends with a prince in the first place. Keep his wrist covered and his head down; smile and joke around, take pictures, support Noctis when he comes to class looking haggard from training lessons and military studies, or when his knuckles go white as a radio chatters cluelessly on about King Regis ducking another public appearance. 

"That being said, I have my own concerns." Ignis closes the file and folds his hands primly over them. The gesture strains his button-up across his chest -- Prompto knows there's strength there, despite the collar. "I cook for the prince, in addition to a number of other duties. As such, I'm very skilled with knives. You understand?"

Of course he does. He understands that this is who Noctis' friend is.

He wants to say: the last thing I'd do is hurt him, but it's not a promise he can make. His wrist burns. 

He swallows around air instead.

"Leave him alone, Ignis," Noctis interrupts them, still damp from the shower. He's toweling at his hair and rolling his eyes. "Prompto wouldn't hurt a pyrefly."

Prompto looks to him, grateful for the rescue, and quirks a smile that feels only slightly plastic on his face. Practice enough, and anything becomes easy to do. "Not a pyrefly, but you know, a wasp, totally."

Noctis meets his gaze, the corners of his mouth turning up. His smiles are small and rare, made more precious by the fact; Prompto is left reeling, breathless. This is what it is to be Noctis' friend, he thinks. I'd die for him. "Bugs," Noctis intones dryly, "are icky."

The words don't really matter. He thinks the realization that he'd die for his friend should be grander than it is, but it's not. It's simple. Second-nature. As easy as breathing and sleeping. Prompto swings his gaze to Ignis briefly, and sees the feeling reflected there. Oh.

"Come on!" Noctis calls from the couch, startling Prompto from his thoughts. "I wanna cream you in King's Knight."

He looks at the manilla folder in Ignis' hands. Ignis inclines his chin. "Go on. It doesn't do to keep Noctis waiting."

Prompto goes.

\--

Gladio is next.

Gladio takes one look at him, snorts, and says, "Yeah, okay. I'm not worried about this," then walks away.

Which is only marginally terrifying, really. It's easier than Ignis, with his folder, anyway.

\--

Mostly though, mostly it's just the two of them when they hang out. Ignis comes to clean and cook, and Gladio sweeps in and out with good-natured thumps on the shoulders. Mostly they play video games, and sometimes study, and on one memorable occasion, attempt to bake a cake that goes very, very badly.

Mostly, being friends with Noctis is just being friends with Noctis, not with a prince. Prompto can ignore the palace, which he isn't allowed into in the first place, and it's easy enough to flip off the television during official ceremony broadcasts (though, they usually feature Noctis looking uncomfortable in suits, and sometimes, sometimes, the temptation of that is too much to resist).

And it's good being friends with Noctis.

Noctis is easy to be friends with, despite all of his grump and grouch. 

Prompto already figured he would be, because Luna's letters said as much, but it's pleasant to realize, firsthand, the truth behind her words. He isn't surprised he likes Noctis; but he is, a little, when he realizes he _likes_ Noctis.

It feels like a natural endpoint to their friendship, and really, they're sixteen; Prompto could get a crush on tree if he really tried hard enough.

Noctis isn't a tree, but rather a good-looking guy who happens to be his best friend and the future liege of the country.

Ignis is going to kill him, is Prompto's next thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sure if I should continue this, but I just beat the game and I'm inspired, so...


End file.
